


acted upon by an unbalanced force

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Look At Your Life Look At Your Choices, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, That's Not How The Force Works, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 18:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19068562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Anakin successfully returns to a point in time before everything goes wrong, has some difficulty acquiring an ally.





	acted upon by an unbalanced force

 

He’s alone at last in Coco Town.

Obi-Wan isn’t a solitary being by nature. He considers himself at least half as good at handling people as Qui-Gon was, but Anakin can be—draining.

It’s something that has always been there, since the inception of the apprenticeship. Anakin requires continuous validation. It’s probably normal to every padawan—Obi-Wan knows he himself wore on Qui-Gon’s nerves, especially at the beginning. Their partnership smoothed out over time, when they got used to each other.

The partnership with Anakin has not smoothed out over time. It has, instead, developed interesting new frictions. Lately his apprentice has taken to criticizing him for both recklessness and complacency, often in the same breath. His ability to spring traps is a skill he’s sure Anakin will one day come to value, but for now it has caused his padawan to view him as some kind of blind, danger-prone fool in constant need of supervision.

Occasionally he manufactures a chance to peel himself away from his dutifully attentive apprentice for a moment of recharge. His tried-and-true method is a lunch for the two of them at Dex’s Diner, where he then engages the besalisk in political smalltalk. Anakin always, invariably, takes the opportunity to mine him for new information on Senator Amidala. It’s a topic so all-consuming that Obi-Wan can and has excused himself from both the table and the room.

He’s without a second shadow only briefly.Fifteen steps out of Dex’s Diner and he can tell he’s being followed, a figure detaching itself from the eatery’s outer wall. They’re as subtle about it as Anakin is, when he takes it into his head to stalk Obi-Wan’s personal errands around the temple.

That is to say—not very.

Obi-Wan didn’t have a destination in mind when he slipped off alone. Even if he had, there’s nothing preventing him from turning around and taking fifteen steps back into the eatery and tapping Anakin for backup—except his selfish desire to breathe his own air for half of a moment and the knowledge that whatever it is, he can probably handle it. 

He veers off the main walkway and down one of the industrial sector’s poorly defined alleys—a huge building looming up through the level’s ceiling on one side, a sheer drop down to the other. His shadow veers with him.

It could be related to their upcoming diplomatic mission to Ansion, but the planet is a backwater and he thinks it unlikely that any agents from it would be interested in the individual jedi assigned to the negotiation. An old grudge is probable, Obi-Wan has made a few enemies and the prickle at the base of his neck tells him his pursuer is more invested than anyone the hutts would employ.

The seething rage washing over him in waves supports this deduction.It puts him in mind uncomfortably of that sith. It was years ago, but the memory is still vivid. He’s never been able to properly let go of it.

He turns to meet his escort half way down the alley. He doesn’t want civilian interference if there’s going to be a confrontation. 

“Master,” the figure greets with Anakin’s voice, and then he steps forward.

There stands a man who is not quite Anakin—taller, darker. It’s like someone seized all of Obi-Wan’s complaints about his padawan and manifested them into a nightmare.

It makes him retreat one uneasy step and leaves him flat-footed. He’s been disarmed before he can properly account for it, his dominant hand twisted up against the small of his back. He tracks where his lightsaber falls and rolls up against some loose rubbish by reflex—what a relief to see that upper-mid Coruscant is as filthy as ever. A hand fists in his hair and crushes his face into the rough duracrete wall, giving him a more personal appreciation of the level’s cleanliness. It should leave one of his hands free, but he can’t seem to shift it from where it’s braced.

If he gets out of this, the real Anakin is never going to let him live it down.

“Obi-Wan,” his assailant breathes. He smells powerfully, unattractively of sulfur.

“I think you’re mistaken,” Obi-Wan tries, speaking into the duracrete.

The grip in his hair tightens, which has Obi-Wan flinching against the thought that his head is about to be smashed against the wall. Instead the man says, “I’d never mistake you, master. After all, we’re brothers.”

The sting of the words is unexpected. It’s a truth about the two of them that—for his own peace of mind and for Anakin’s future—Obi-Wan has never acknowledged aloud. It also means someone has been observing him very closely.

If this is a sith plot, it’s targeted specifically at Obi-Wan. It makes sense, he killed one of them. It’s also possible, but less likely, that it’s targeted at the jedi in general. No, not taking the form it has. 

He has to believe it can’t have anything to do with Anakin beyond his association with Obi-Wan. They’ve worked hard to keep Anakin from coming to the attention of such dark forces. Qui-Gon’s belief that he was the chosen one hadn’t spread beyond the closed doors of the council chamber, and all of their missions have been selected for their mundane nature, despite how often they ended up more exciting in practice.

Though, even if it’s just Obi-Wan they’re after—whatever this is, he needs to make the jedi aware of it.

“You don’t believe it’s me,” the Anakin lookalike observes. With an undertone if disappointment, “I came back all this way to keep you on the right path, master. If I leave you alone for too long you’ll betray the Republic.”

“Why don’t you let me up so we can talk?” Obi-Wan coaxes. It wouldn’t work on the real Anakin, but a clone, or whatever it is, might be more easily led.

He’s spun around and repinnedwith the same dizzying speed of the initial attack, his back up against the wall and his wrists gripped together against his chest. Obi-Wan has been recognized as master in combat—indeed, it’s the only field he has mastery in. Being this outclassed is a new but unwelcome sensation.

He weathers the uncomfortable indignity of having someone run their fingers through his beard with as much stoicism as he can possibly project. It makes his assailant smile

“Your future’s so horrible, but at least your beard is better,” the Anakin lookalike says. He tilts Obi-Wan’s head up so he can stare into his eyes with such intensity it’s like a physical attack, “the jedi are rotten. Everyone keeps dying. We’ve got to stop it.”

He looks awful, almost feverish, and his dark tabards are singed and smoky. His eyes are red-rimmed like he hasn’t slept, or he’s been crying. It would be a compelling vision if he really was Anakin.

As it is, he’s less like the monster Obi-Wan first took him for and more like a madman.

“Who keeps dying?” Obi-Wan prompts.

“Padme,” the lookalike chokes out, eyes gaining a glassy sheen. Obi-Wan catches himself before he rolls his own, a move not even appropriate for the real Anakin’s Padmé Amidala histrionics.

“My mother,” he adds. He should have lead with it, but Obi-Wan’s not going to give him pointers. “I came back to save them—and you. I’d never abandon you, master.”

Obi-Wan smiles blandly up at him, “You went backwards in time to save me? However did you manage that?”

“The force delivered me here,” he says, which Obi-Wan might have predicted if his first thought hadn’t been sith alchemy. Delivered by the force—it’s the sort of thing a civilian child would come up with, and so absurd he can’t even begin to formulate a meaningful argument against it.

Something of his feelings must show on his face, because the lookalike squeeze his wrists so tightly Obi-Wan can feel cybernetic bones right through the gloves—a droid? “You never listen to me, master. The dreams are real—they both die. I’m going to save all of you this time.”

“Why don’t you let me go,” Obi-Wan says, because he knows anything else is going to come out sarcastic.

That earns him a scowl and a shake, but ultimately he’s released. He takes the opportunity to slide along the wall and regain some space.

“You’re trying to manipulate me. You’re not very good at it,” the Anakin lookalike says, which is very Anakin of him, complaining about Obi-Wan after he’s already done whatever’s been asked of him. When he doesn’t get an answer he adds with a sneer, “I thought you were good at everything, master.”

Before Obi-Wan can stop him, he’s spun away—straight over the lip of the deck.


End file.
